


Call Me Baby

by fannishliss



Series: Kink List [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Play, Begging, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, First Time, Kissing, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve saving himself for Bucky, hairlessness, one stays clothed while the other is naked, relationship breakthrough, the strangers at a bar pickup fantasy, yeah there's a good deal of begging in this one :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve needs someone to take care of him and give him what he needs, and he thinks he's found the perfect candidate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me Baby

Steve is feeling pretty nervous by the time he walks in. When he and Bucky were kids, this type of bar would have been a great place to get rounded up in a vice action. Or, targeted by wolves who pulled fellas like Steve into dark alleys and took them apart with no concern for basic humanity.

Nowadays, this is just a bar like any other. Men like Steve, who prefer the company of their own kind, are protected by law instead of targeted by it, even though they still do get beaten up sometimes. At least nowadays, Steve could defend himself if he needs to. But he really doesn’t want to think about that kind of thing.

He's looking to relax. He wants to feel young. He wants to shrug off his Avengers identity, the heavy weight of the shield, and just be a young guy in a bar looking for someone to care of him for the night.

And right there is the ideal candidate.

Steve saunters up to the bar as casually as he can. He runs a nervous hand through his hair - he’s just had it cut, long on top and thin on the sides, like he always used to wear — and he smooths it back in his old calming habit and leans in, catching the bartender’s eye.

“Whisky neat,” Steve says.

“The Macallan,” the gentleman to his left inserts.

Steve turns his head, trying to look casual yet certain he’s failing miserably. His big eyes always give him away.

“Thanks?” Steve says, the nervous question making his voice higher than it usually is.

“Thank me later,” the other man says, smooth as sin. The man is so gorgeous, Steve wonders if he’s swaying from the force of his reaction. He’s wearing a sharp, nicely cut suit with a waistcoat on under his jacket, but his top button is open and his tie is loosed a little from around his neck. His shoes are so shiny Steve thinks he could see his reflection. He didn’t even know you could still get shoes that shiny these days.

“Uh, how much later?” Steve tries.

“How about in the morning, baby?” the man smirks and Steve feels his face heat. The smirk unleashes something magic, like this cat’s the devil, fishing for Steve’s soul. His hair is long and loose around his collar, hanging a little across his face, looking so thick and soft that Steve’s fingers are twitching, wanting to feel. The careless hairstyle tops off the man’s whole image — powerful, successful, enough money to dress as sharp as he wants and enough say to wear his hair however he likes, regardless of the current trend.

Steve has never seen such a beautiful man — changeable gray blue eyes, full lips, a strong, handsome jaw. Steve can’t look away and he knows he should play it cool but he just can’t.

The bartender saves him, pushing the whisky to Steve and topping up the gentleman, who picks up his glass. Steve does likewise and the two of them lock eyes as their glasses clink.

“Slainte,” the man says.

Steve nods, not trusting his voice and takes a drink. The liquor burns; it tastes good, familiar.

“Let me guess,” the man says, studying Steve. “You’re an artist.”

“Wow,” Steve says, “good guesser.”

“Well,” the guy drawls, catching Steve’s right hand lightly in his own, “you need a better manicurist — there’s paint in your nail beds, and your right thumb is ingrained on the under side with charcoal.”

“You been studying your Sherlock Holmes?” Steve asks.

The hooded eyes appraise Steve seriously. “Baby, I could teach him a trick or two he’s never even dreamed.”

Steve can’t help but grin. So full of arrogant confidence, but somehow he makes it work. On anyone else it would be abrasive, but for him, it works.

“I’m not sure you should call me baby,” Steve says to his whisky.

“Why not?” the man asks. “How old are you?”

“How old do you wanna guess?” Steve retorts.

The steel eyes assess. “You dress like a student.” Jeans, a tight cotton tee, leather jacket. “Your hair is still light, it makes you look young. Your skin is so smooth — no beard. But your body is filled out, mature, not lanky. Early twenties.”

Steve nods. “Close enough.”

“I knew a guy once, looked a lot younger than he really was,” the man muses on. “Little guy — slight. Couldn’t build any muscle to save his life. He wasn't big, but damn, drop dead gorgeous — spirit so strong in those blue eyes, that stubborn jaw…”

Steve hides his reaction in another sip of whisky. “Sounds like someone you’d like to see again.”

“Not the looks that count, is what I’m trying to say,” the man counters, tapping his right finger on Steve’s thigh. “It’s the spirit, the man inside that matters.”

“How do you get there, though?” Steve asks. “How do you get to know the man inside?”

“You just have to pay attention,” the man smiles. “Don’t look away. And try not to forget. So,” he asks. “How old do you think I am?”

Steve has permission to really look so he does. Lines on the man’s face speak of hard experience. Silver threads near his temples show he’s a little older than Steve had assumed at first.

“Thirties?” Steve hazards.

The guy’s smile is a little wry. “I can’t deny it,” he answers. “A little older, maybe a little wiser.”

Steve’s own hand brushes against the other guy’s hand as he brings it back up to the bar. Every contact between them seems to throw sparks.

“You should tell me your name, if you’re gonna be dispensing all this wisdom,” Steve grins.

“Barnes,” the man says. “James Barnes — international man of mystery.” His wide smile betrays the fact that he knows he’s being a little silly.

“Steve,” he says back, offering his hand.

Barnes’s hand in his feels perfect: hard, strong but not overly aggressive. A confident, capable hand. And then it caresses him a little as he lets go and Steve trembles all over.

“You can say no,” Barnes says, leaning in to Steve’s ear. His hot breath makes Steve shiver again. “But I really hope you don’t. Come back with me to my room. I came here looking for someone and I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

“I should text my friends where I’m going,” Steve warns.

“Oh, I insist,” Barnes answers. “If this night isn’t one for the storybooks, I’m doing something wrong.”

The bar is close to where Barnes is staying and before Steve knows it they’re gliding smoothly upward, into the New York sky.

The elevator slides open onto the foyer of a suite. The rooms are expensive and the decor is sleek and spare, accentuating the view from the floor to ceiling windows. Steve whistles.

“Nice digs.”

“Playing with the big dogs has its perks,” Barnes answers.

He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it onto one of the couches, and as they sit down, Steve sees the silver hand that’s been hidden in his pocket until now.

Steve nods at the hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Barnes answers. “I’m used to it by now.”

Steve cautiously extends his own hand and Barnes doesn’t shy away. Steve looks at the hand and then at the man’s shuttered eyes.

“I know it’s not something you chose,” Steve says. “I don’t mean to offend — but — it’s beautiful.”

“It makes me feel like a monster,” Barnes whispers.

“Like something out of an old, old story,” Steve counters — “a hero, taken by the heartless ones, given an arm of pure starlight, great power, and awful pain—“

“Yeah, you’re a kid all right, if you still believe in fairy tales,” Barnes replies.

“Out of suffering comes great beauty, sometimes,” Steve says, trying to keep the tone light.

Barnes holds up his hand and turns it, watching it glister. “It’s hard for me to see the beauty in it.”

“Well, that’s why you need me,” Steve explains mildly.

“A bright-eyed kid with an artist’s eye, and a bad old sinner like me,” Barnes says. “You sure about this?”

“I don’t usually feel like a kid,” Steve says. “But something about you makes me feel young.”

“In a good way?” Barnes asks.

“Yes,” Steve insists. “I feel like I could take on the world, do crazy things, and you’d be there to catch me.”

Barnes doesn’t answer.

“You called me baby,” Steve says, “and kid. You want me to be your baby?”

“Yeah,” Barnes nods, barely a sound.

“I can do that,” Steve whispers. “I’ll do whatever you say. Let you do whatever you want. I know you’ll take good care of me.”

“How do you know?” Barnes whispers back. “How could you possibly know that for sure?”

Steve lifts the beautiful metal hand and guides it to his throat. The cool fingers close, so gentle, so smooth and soft they feel almost like satin. Steve leans his head away, baring his throat to the hand.

“So careful,” Steve whispers. “You’re not gonna hurt me, are you? You wanna take such good care of your baby. You wanna make me feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” Barnes whispers. His cheeks are red with a high flush, his lips so lush and red, his pupils expanded so far his eyes are almost black. His forehead is sweating, tiny droplets, and the hollow of his neck. Steve leans closer, breathing in the luscious masculine smell of Barnes heating up with wanting.

“Kiss me,” Steve breathes, “pull me in close and taste. See if I don’t open up, just like you want.”

“Steve,” Barnes answers, but he does it. The hand on Steve’s neck is warming to the temperature of Steve’s own skin, still so gentle, but whirring a little as it moves Steve closer.

Their lips touch, like butterflies, a flutter against soft petals. Steve licks out, just barely, catching the tenderness of Barnes’s lip as he begins to retreat.

“How many times do you think I’ve been kissed?” Steve asks.

“Thousands,” Barnes mutters. He’s shaking, just a little, but he doesn’t pull away. His silver thumb caresses the dip between Steve’s clavicles.

“Nah,” Steve says. “Saving myself — head over heels in love, but afraid to speak up.”

“Stupid,” Barnes says.

“Always such a little punk, someone used to say,” Steve admits. “So, this makes four.”

“Four?” Barnes says, a little off track.

“Four times I’ve been kissed: three I didn’t ask for, and this one, which, believe me, I’m asking.”

The hand around Steve’s neck tightens for a split second, then pulls him in tight, the other hand feathering light down the side of his face.

“Steve,” he moans, and then he is kissing, for real this time.

Steve leans back on the soft, luxurious couch, and Barnes follows. Steve may be one or two inches taller, but Barnes is just as broad in the shoulder and maybe slightly heavier. Steve tests the way, slowly lying back, and Barnes keeps apace, till Steve is reclined in the arm of the couch and Barnes is partly draped across him, petting his face and hair, holding him in place by the throat, and kissing and kissing like Steve is some kind of fountain of bliss.

“Oh baby, oh Steve,” Barnes is mumbling.

“You can touch me,” Steve says. The silver hand on his throat is magnificent. He can only imagine the cool silver lines it could trace across the rest of his body.

“I am,” Barnes mumbles, not stopping as he licks and nibbles Steve’s lips.

“You said my skin looked soft,” Steve says. “It is — soft as a baby. Everywhere.”

Barnes pulls back, just for a moment. His right hand seems to take note, all of a sudden, at Steve’s complete lack of stubble, the baby soft fineness of his sunny blond hair.

“Oh,” he says.

“Let me show you,” Steve says. Barnes sits back, just enough, and Steve shimmies out of his shirt.

His chest is perfect, strong, every muscle the pinnacle of human perfection — and his skin is soft like it’s never been touched, a perfect golden paleness, unmarked by freckle or scar. Barnes strokes Steve’s chest in wonder, learning for himself the miraculous freshness Steve still thinks must be a dream. Soft, satiny, perfectly youthful — and not a hair anywhere.

“Can I be your baby?” Steve asks, softly. “I’ll be so good. Whatever you want. Okay?”

The silver hand moves to the back of Steve’s neck as Barnes eases him flat against the spacious couch and settles himself between Steve’s legs.

“Okay?” Barnes asks, moving so slow Steve feels like molasses, thick and sweet.

“So good,” he moans, lifting his hips just a little to feel his lover lined up against him, holding him down, gentle, irresistible in every way.

“God, Steve,” Barnes moans, “how are you real — how can you let me —“

Steve interrupts, kissing the troubled words away from his lover’s lips. “You gonna take care of me? Please?”

“Yes,” Barnes chokes.

“Please, I want that so much,” Steve begs. “You’re so gentle — it feels so good — it can be even harder, if you want — I’m a lot tougher than I look — “

“I couldn’t bear to put a mark on this sweet skin — “

“Mark it all you like — it’ll fade,” Steve promises.

Barnes closes his eyes and shakes his head the tiniest fraction.

Steve pulls Barnes in for another kiss — so tender, and yet deep with passion.

“Could you kiss me — here?” Steve asks. “Please?”

A shudder goes through Barnes every time Steve begs.

“Oh honey, oh Steve,” he murmurs, moving his mouth to Steve’s left nipple.

He sucks, his tongue flicking, and Steve’s dick jumps. He’s been so hard for so long, leaving a wet patch in his shorts, but Barnes’s mouth pulling on his tit is too much.

He buries his hands in the couch cushions, afraid of his grip on his lover’s back.

“You like that, baby?” Barnes asks.

“Yes,” Steve gasps. He doesn’t get winded — but Barnes takes his breath away just the same.

“Oh, it’s so smooth, so hard, so perfect, baby, I love it so much,” Barnes moans between kisses. Every time Barnes latches on is a new zing of fire into his dick.

“Please, please,” Steve begins to beg. Somehow, after everything, he still feels shy, he doesn’t want to say it.

“Please what, baby? Anything you want.”

“Oh! oh, touch me!” Steve begs.

“Show me, then,” Barnes says and like a fiend, he pulls away.

“Oh!” Steve sighs. He is burning up from his lover’s touch, desperate for more, and so eager to do exactly what he says.

“You’re gonna do whatever I say, aren’t you, baby?” Barnes asks, reading his mind. He moves down, kneeling on the floor beside the couch, confidence regained, recovered after reeling from Steve’s kisses.

“Yes,” Steve swears.

“Get rid of these jeans then and let me see you — all of you,” Barnes demands. He’s still fully dressed — he hasn’t even unbuttoned his waistcoat or taken off his tie. Steve thinks, wildly, that it’s a very nice tie, dark navy blue crossed with red threads and tiny silver stars, and a pattern of stars shimmering in the weave of the silk.

“That’s a nice tie,” Steve says, breathlessly, as he kicks free of his pants. His nakedness is sudden and absolute and he shivers all over.

“I can think of something nicer,” Barnes replies, pulling his tie free.

Steve stares. He knows his eyes are big again: he can’t look away.

Barnes lifts his hands, easing them free from their grip on the cushions, and ties them together over his head.

“Leave your hands where I put them, okay, baby?”

“Okay,” Steve promises. Barnes kisses his fingers one last time before abandoning them at the end of the couch.

The silver hand roams Steve’s body as Barnes kneels and stares and kisses wherever he likes. Sometimes a cool metal finger is stroking the inside of Steve’s smooth, hard thigh. Sometime a hot mouth is sucking a tantalizing bite into the tender flesh of his side, a mark of ownership without a hint of a bruise.

And then, finally, a finger traces his dick, just stroking, so light, like a feather almost, caressing the tender skin as his dick jumps eagerly under the touch. He’s almost crying by now, it feels so good.

The other hand creeps in under his leg, softly exploring. The soft warm finger strokes down, between his cheeks, taking possession of his ass and his balls, as the metal fingertip pulses lightly just beneath the head of his dick.

“Please, oh please,” Steve begs.

“Let it go, baby,” Barnes says. “I wanna see it. Let me see that golden skin spattered with pearls.”

The warm hand touches him like no one else has ever, will ever touch… the cool finger dances against his dick in a rhythm that stutters like his heart never does any more — and he feels like his body is flying apart, but clenched hard as iron.

“Oh Steve, oh Stevie, yes — let it go, so good…” his lover mutters.

Everything is brilliant, blank and fiery as the sun. Blessed release floods through his body and he collapses flat into the couch. Words are gone. There is nothing but joy, and satisfaction and one word:

_Bucky_  
_Bucky_  
_Bucky_

Finally his lips begin to move again. “Bucky. Jesus, Bucky. I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know, baby,” Bucky is saying. He has a warm cloth from somewhere, cleaning Steve off.

“This was a good idea,” Steve mumbles. His lips feel a little numb still, like he’s been outside in the cold.

“This was god damn genius,” Bucky allows. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure…”

“You stubborn jerk, I only been working on you for half a year almost …”

“Hey, it’s a big responsibility,” Bucky complains, “for a former brainwashed assassin to devirginize Captain America.”

“Kiss me,” Steve commands, and Bucky does.

“We coulda been doing this for months,” Bucky says after a while.

“Years,” Steve says, “but who’s counting. Now that we’ve got a good start, we won’t have trouble keeping going.”

“And it’s my turn next,” Bucky says, with a very dirty grin.

“You wanna go with ‘devastatingly handsome older man picks up bright eyed young thing’ again for your turn?” Steve offers.

Steve had negotiated everything to make Bucky feel strong and in control. He swore he wouldn’t make Bucky take off even a stitch of clothing if Bucky would just touch him. The tie was Bucky’s golden improvisation.

“Nothing like the truth to set you free,” Bucky laughs while Steve rolls his eyes and then they’re kissing again, and Steve was right all along.

Once they got started, there was no way in hell they’d ever stop.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done a kink bingo card but always kind of wanted to. So I finally went and found a list of kinks and began at the beginning with Age Play. I'm pretty sure this stretches the definition -- I guess Steve begging to be Bucky's baby comes as close as I can at this time. 
> 
> I found myself going all the way with Steve's hairless body, which was kind of fun. :D
> 
> I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
